A Good Deed Never Goes Unpunished
by unwittingcatalyst
Summary: It starts with a conversation in a tavern, Autolycus, Xena, Gabrielle.  Also appearing: Cupid, Psyche, and Ares.  Chapter 3 now up.
1. Chapter 1

"A Good Deed Never Goes Unpunished"

The festival was in town, and merry people wearing their most brightly colored and well-mended clothes were everywhere. The tavern was full of these folks, drawn there by the smell of savory meats from the kitchen. A group in one corner kept trying to break into a bawdy song, but frequently interrupted themselves with laughter.

Xena and Autolycus sat in the bustling tavern, catching up and gossiping while Gabrielle took the opportunity to visit vendors at the festival outside. They had fallen to recounting tales of their times with people they both knew.

Autolycus was reflecting thoughtfully. "So I guess Hercules did for me a little what he did for you. But, you've without a doubt helped."

Xena looked at the thief incredulously. "No. I don't see much parallel at all. You've never been anything like what I was—and," she laughed, "you haven't changed much from knowing us."

Autolycus grumbled into his ale about having to relinquish chances at jewels due to her and Herc's meddling, and Xena ignored him.

"No—you're not much like me at all—it's Gabrielle you're like."

At this Autolycus looked at her like she'd grown a squid's head. "You've got to be kidding. No offense to Gabrielle, mind you—indeed, she's the one who'd be in her rights to take offense at a comparison like that—but—"

"You both talk too much, for one thing," Xena interrupted acidly.

Autolycus had no response to this.

"But that's not what I really mean," Xena continued, contemplating. "You forget how well I know your dark secret—"

"Now wait a minute—"

"I was there, you know. Inside your head. I know how generous you are." She was slightly mocking and perfectly serious all at once, a fond and mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Hey, do you have to talk so loud? Keep it down," he said, glancing around with paranoia.

Xena smiled at his discomfiture, and then spoke, still serious. "It's people like you and Gabrielle that I've tried to surround myself with, to keep me from sliding back."

He looked at her with consternation in his brown eyes.

"That makes no sense. I mean, Gabrielle, sure—she'd do that—but I'm the King of Thieves! _You've_ been the one reforming _me_, not the other way around!"

"That's what I thought at first. Until I figured out you really don't care about riches or precious objects at all—"

"Sssh! You could destroy a guy's reputation talking that way!"

"You never have many dinars on you," she pointed out.

"I spend them. I'm very good at spending my dinars—other people's dinars—"

"With your thievery skills, you could have a castle full of riches, a storehouse."

"How do you know I don't?—a secret one—"

"Instead, you walk around with almost nothing—"

"I have stashes."

"Liar. You keep a bit of what you steal for food, lodging, replacement—lockpicks," she gestured to indicate the random tools of his trade, "and the rest mysteriously disappears."

Autolycus sat up and spoke haughtily. "A man has to have his mysteries."

Xena laughed, thoroughly enjoying her friend's display of pomposity.

After a while, Autolycus returned to the subject from a different angle. With a slight, sneaky smile, he said, "If I was so much like Gabrielle, I would have had better luck with you."

Xena flashed him a warning look.

"You can't fool me either, Xena." He spoke gently, his smile wry. "You're besotted with her, and too—too something, I don't know what—to pursue it, as you should." _Since she's obviously besotted with you, _he thought to himself._ Maybe there's a way Gabrielle and I are alike—our similar good taste in tall, dark-haired, drop-dead beautiful women_.

He watched Xena, hoping speaking the words openly might have some effect.

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Gabrielle came back then from her shopping expedition to find Xena and Autolycus in friendly conversation in the tavern. She noted from their expressions that they'd been arguing over something.

As she dumped her bags full of treasures and sat, Gabrielle prodded, "OK, spill. It looks like what you've been talking about is too interesting not to share."

The glances they gave each other then made Gabrielle wonder, but she did not let on, just waited.

"Well, I was just saying that you and Autolycus here are quite alike," Xena began, a bit more loquaciously than normal.

Gabrielle gave her a disbelieving look. "Did somebody put something in your drink? Come on, that's ridiculous—I can't think of any of anyone I'm less like. No offence, Autolycus."

"None taken," he replied smoothly, then both he and Gabrielle looked thoughtful for a moment, neither noticing Xena smirking into her drink.

"There is one thing," Autolycus began. Gabrielle saw and pretended to ignore the warning look Xena gave him—she was more interested for the moment in what he was about to say. "We are both good at disguises."

Gabrielle nodded judiciously. "True, true. And we both know how to talk ourselves out of a difficult situation."

Autolycus smiled graciously in agreement—Gabrielle could tell he was enjoying the mutual approbrium as much as she was.

"'Cause you are both so talented at getting yourselves into the worst fixes," Xena snarked, downing the last of her cup.

Gabrielle laughed, and exchanged a mutual glance of rueful agreement with Autolycus. They really couldn't deny that one.

After Xena left to make sure Argo's needs were tended to in the town during their stay, Gabrielle finally got a chance to ask.

"What was that really all about? I saw you and Xena were arguing about something—a little more serious."

"Eh, nothing, really," he said, evasive, and poured her some of the ale.

"Hmm." Gabrielle said, but didn't pursue it then, knowing that waiting often worked better.

After she'd shown off her purchases—a frying pan (again), some healing salve, a scroll of poetry—she drank her ale and watched the people in the tavern.

Autolycus was the one to return to the subject. "There is one similarity we have that Xena and I did not talk about," he said, a bit reluctantly. Gabrielle listened eagerly.

"What is that?"

"Well, you know I've always admired her."

"And I do too?—no, that's nothing significant. Half the known world admires her—her good deeds, her fighting skill—the ones who know who she is and know she's no longer a bloodthirsty warlord, at least," Gabrielle amended.

"That's not the way I mean it," he said seriously.

"Oh, you mean-?"

He grew thoughtful and reminiscent. "She caught my eye right away—not just her obvious beauty, but something compelling—" he shook off the thought. "But, see, with me, it could never be anything serious or real, but you, on the other hand—"

Gabrielle spoke carefully. "What do you mean, exactly?" She, of course, knew, but was terribly curious what Autolycus had to say on the subject.

"It's obvious, isn't it? You adore her. I mean, sure, who with any sense wouldn't?—but with you—I can see you are head over heels for her." He was speaking uncharacteristically gravely.

Gabrielle neither confirmed nor denied anything, but was completely without argument in her tone as she said, with a slight smile, "How do you know what's in my heart, Autolycus?"

"I saw, when she kissed you—used me to kiss you—" he shook his head. "Weird situation. But, I was there. I saw the devotion and passion in your eyes."

Gabrielle found it oddly reassuring to be told in low tones in the middle of a noisy tavern exactly the nature of her deepest feelings. Slowly, she nodded, smiling sadly. "Thank you."

He seemed a bit surprised at that, and she clarified, "It's good to be seen." She reached out and squeezed his hand.

He laughed slightly. "So, you don't mind, that I was there for such a personal moment?"

She laughed outright, quietly. "It's not like you could help it. Besides, Xena was right about you—right to trust you. It was—not a problem."

That seemed to shut him right up—for some reason Autolycus got uncomfortable when people said such things to him. He gulped down some of his ale.

After a bit, he managed to speak again. "Then—you wouldn't mind me asking a rather personal question?"

"Go ahead. You're going to, anyway."

"If you feel that way toward Xena, why don't you do something about it?"

"Do something?—what would you suggest? That I sweep her off her feet?" Gabrielle's tone, she knew, betrayed a bit of her impatience. "Xena is a—stubborn person, set in her ways. I'm satisfied with the status quo—which is most wonderful, and I should be grateful for things as they are."

He looked like he wanted to say something, but then was stopping himself. Then he said, "I'm not the one to offer suggestions here," and Gabrielle noted that Autolycus in humble mode, however rare, was odd but not as much of a shock as she might have thought it would be. "It just seems strange to me, that you two—well, that you aren't already lovers."

Gabrielle regarded Autolycus for a few moments. "Wouldn't you be jealous?" she asked bluntly.

"Uh—" he stumbled.

"You were just saying, you were drawn to Xena when you first met her."

"Yes. Yes, I was. But—that was nothing in comparison."

"Nothing?" she asked kindly. "If you see her anything like I do—"

"Xena is remarkable," he admitted. "And I—yes, I have a soft spot for her. But any romance I had thought to pursue"—he shook his head decisively. "I wouldn't want that now. Not after seeing what I've seen here, not knowing like I do now what _should_ be between you and Xena—she's spoken for, and even I have a—sense of honor about these things."

Gabrielle spoke with a sudden spontaneous warmth. "You're a good friend to us, Autolycus, and I appreciate what you are trying to do." Then she said, sadly, "But I don't hold out much hope here, and really, that's not so bad." She was rationalizing, she knew, but she had truly come to a peace about this.

Autolycus looked down, and she figured he was avoiding her eyes because of her expression of gratitude, but then she saw him pull out a scroll from his supplies.

"Maybe you are right. But _I'll_ keep hoping. This is for you."

She opened it eagerly. "More poetry! By—?" Gabrielle searched.

"Sappho, an island poet," he supplied. "I thought you might find her work interesting." He smiled, a playful light in his eyes.

"Thank you!" she enthused. Gabrielle had heard of Sappho, but had not yet been able to find her work—she was overjoyed at any new poet, and knew quite well the significance of this one to their conversation.

Xena reappeared then, and Gabrielle added the new scroll without comment to her other one, and the conversation became practical again.


	2. Chapter 2

Autolycus breathed in relief as the warrior and the bard departed the tavern. He'd managed it, more or less, without revealing what he wasn't allowed to—not telling Gabrielle that he knew already of Xena's overwhelming passion for her, not reminding Xena about what he'd once said of Gabrielle's own passion. The potion he'd added to their ale would work not as Cupid's arrows usually did—that wasn't needed here—but rather in a way that showed them more vividly what was already in their own and the other's hearts. With any luck the two would come to their senses—sooner rather than later, though all that was nothing he could do anything about. He'd sensed the (not very rational, in his opinion) reservations that held Xena back, and he thought Gabrielle was being far too understanding and acquiescent about it all.

None of my business anymore, he reminded himself.

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"Dude, you're brilliant at this. I don't think you even needed the potion."

Autolycus shrugged. "Glad to help in a good cause."

"The poetry—that was rockin'!" Cupid's face lit up with his enthusiasm.

"Well—" Autolycus found his modesty begin to turn false. He too thought that the poetry had been a stroke of genius.

"I'm going to have to tell mom about this Sappho chick. She'll appreciate another contributor to the cause."

"Ah, don't tell her it was my idea. In fact, don't mention me at all."

"You don't trust us gods?" Cupid asked knowingly.

"Uh, nothing personal, but no. It's all just a little too complicated for my simple life."

"Let me tell you confidentially—I'm with you on that. You know what it was like being raised in a family like ours?"

Autolycus regarded the young immortal with genuine sympathy, remembering tales Cupid's uncle Hercules had shared. "I can imagine."

"So, you don't want any token of thanks? I could arrange something for you with someone you fancy-"

"No. I want such things in my life to be, uh, spontaneous and—to come from the person in question."

Cupid smiled, and Autolycus sensed his approval. He had heard from Hercules that Cupid had refused to use his own arrow to win over his beloved Psyche.

"You have my gratitude, and if you ever need a favor you can call on me."

Warily, Autolycus accepted Cupid's words, and the conversation was over, and no immediate danger of a giant chicken this time. He shuddered at the memory.

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Cupid and Psyche were watching their brightly mischievous son Bliss run and fly wildly through the enchanted glade, trying to imitate the butterflies.

"How was your day, dear?" Psyche asked, playing with her beloved's hair.

"Lovely. Xena and Gabrielle are bound to fall into each other's arms sooner or later, now, thanks to the help of that thief—and the potion you made for me."

"Then why do you still look pensive?"

"I want to do something to thank him, but he said he didn't want anything. He's served me before, you know—set up his girlfriend with that prince, and they're deliriously happy."

"You'll think of something," she said confidently and lovingly. Cupid looked down at his beloved and smiled.

"Yes, I think I will," he said, and turned his full attention to her.

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The conversation in the tavern had been in early, early spring, winter's deep cold making staying in a town so much more comfortable than making camp. Now, though, it was early summer. Autolycus had taken care of several matters in some northern villages—and conducted a masterful theft, which storytellers were already embellishing. He'd lifted a fantastically adorned ancient crown out of the spoils of a warlord (as well as other, less showy treasures). After quietly relocating that wealth, he was ready to relax and enjoy the mild summer coming on, when he heard a rumor that Xena and Gabrielle were nearby.

He investigated casually and found what path he could travel where he would likely intercept them. He was curious what he would find.

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It was a pleasant evening in Gabrielle and Xena's camp, the fire for cheer and cooking instead of warmth. Autolycus listened to Gabrielle's enthusiastic stories, and told a few of his own, which neither she nor Xena seemed to believe. Nevertheless, while Xena rolled her eyes and seemed to barely listen, Gabrielle leaned forward eagerly, and asked questions, and after gave him pointers on his storytelling.

"But you don't believe me," he said.

Gabrielle gave him a look. "Of course I don't. But that's not always the point of a good story—whether it actually happened—if you can draw your listeners in-" Autolycus was amused—that one had actually been true—well, mostly.

So far, he could see little indication of any change in the two of them, though he couldn't be entirely sure. They disagreed, teased each other, fussed over how to season the rabbit they'd caught—all no different than other times he'd been a guest in their camp.

But then there were things that made him wonder. Like how Gabrielle let her hands rest on Xena's shoulders, or the look Xena gave to Gabrielle as the bard left the camp—amused and also—was that a certain hunger he saw?

Hmm. Well, he wasn't going to intrude, and so he thanked them for their hospitality and got up to head down the path.

"Oh, why don't you camp here with us?" Gabrielle said. "No point in you making a separate fire, and—well, I'd appreciate it if you rescued me from Xena's cooking tomorrow morning," she said, with a pointed look at Xena, who scowled, but not too fiercely.

He mentioned some grain and nuts he had that he could share, and for Gabrielle that seemed to settle it.

Xena just shrugged at being off of breakfast duty the next morning. Autolycus did wonder at how graciously Xena took the Gabrielle's grousing about her cooking—but, that had always been happening, hadn't it?

He found a soft spot of ground on the other side of the fire, and began preparing for sleep.

Then, he saw them matter of factly bed down together, Gabrielle wrapped in Xena's arms, in a way not at all required by the mildness of the evening. He turned away to hide the grin on his face, hoping this meant what he thought it did.

But by the next morning, he realized all he could see were ambiguities. Xena was in a distant, amused mood, Gabrielle as lively and cheerful as ever. He knew what he wanted to see—but that didn't mean it was there; Xena's distance could mean her impatience with his very presence, wanting time alone with Gabrielle, or it could mean—she was being Xena. Similarly, Gabrielle's ebullience could be the result of the joy of Xena finally fully acknowledging their love—or it could just be Gabrielle.

Gabrielle seemed a bit disappointed when he took his leave later that morning, but Xena—did not. He should have realized that there was something up with the remoteness he saw in Xena directed his way.

He walked away, resigned to not knowing—at least for now—the outcome of his and Cupid's little plot.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: I want to give particular thanks to Stardawn19 and Storyfan101, who read this and gave me both encouragement and specific advice that improved my description here._

Autolycus was strolling down the path, enjoying the breeze and the afternoon sunlight, when he felt something wrap sharply around his ankles. His feet were yanked abruptly back and in short order he landed face first into the damp dirt. He grunted at the impact, and felt himself roughly turned over, to see Xena with a smile on her face that was not at all pleasant.

"Xena-?" He looked up at her in confusion. Not that she hadn't done this sort of thing to him in the past, but—he was most definitely not up to anything at all at present, and they'd just had what he'd thought was a friendly visit.

"Autolycus," Xena said with a snarl. "We need to talk."

Autolycus was wary—not, strangely, at the more than implied physical threat, but at Xena's manner: usually, at worst, Xena was impatient, irritated, exasperated at him—but this was something more: she looked truly angry.

He started to slowly rise, brushing dirt off of himself. He was relieved that he didn't immediately have a sword to his throat, but the dark expression on her face was a warning to him not to try to go anywhere.

As usual, Xena cut to the heart of the matter without excess words. "In winter, when we met in the tavern in Nafplion, you put something in mine and Gabrielle's ale."

"Ah. That," he said. No point in denying anything. Her face continued stony. "You see, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation," he said nervously.

"I'm not even sure I want to hear it." Her tone was cold. "I wouldn't have thought it of you, that you'd trick us like that. Was it for greed?—or were you just being careless?—as you pursued whatever your little plot was. Do you care so little about endangering us?"

Autolycus' eyes grew larger and a strange unsettled feeling came over him, like shame, and his face grew warm. There was accusation in her voice-she thought he'd betrayed them. For a few moments he stared at her, dumbfounded. There was a sick sensation in him that could not tolerate for her to see him that way. It made him speak.

"Now—hold on there—it wasn't like that—"

His words seemed to ignite fury in her. She grabbled him by his shirt and lifted him up, then slammed him against a nearby tree. _By the gods, she's strong._

"Then what do you think you were doing?" she spat. She was nose to nose with him, her pale blue eyes so cold their gaze reached into him and chilled his soul.

Autolycus breathed to try to calm himself. He was used to people being angry with him, but the ferocity—and, he saw, hurt—in those eyes was worse than any of that. With a wrench he knew that he had lost her trust.

"So-you want to hear my explanation," he said, voice trembling.

The hand in his shirt twisted, and her elbow forced him further back against the trunk. Her voice was a growl. "Say it."

He thought back to the conversation with Cyrene that had started all of this, and wondered how much of it to share with her, then realized—he needed to get to the key point, needed Xena to know there'd been no danger.

He opened his mouth to do so—and his usual silver tongue failed him. In fact, he couldn't speak at all. The panicked frustration of it was far too familiar—it was just like when he'd first tried to tell Iolaus about the huge and terrifying chicken.

Xena now made that chicken look friendly, docile, and harmless. She had no patience at all with his attempts to talk, and he could see in her eyes that for her, this was just proof of his guilt.

Desperately, he tried again—but nothing. It was a set-up, interference from a god, he realized. He tried to communicate through his eyes—but Xena seemed immune to his silent plea, her own expression coldly implacable. She'd already judged him, he realized, and his current silence only confirmed what she already thought she knew.

The fury, doubt, and hurt in her eyes –it was starting to sink in, what this meant. She thought he would do her and Gabrielle harm. He couldn't even begin to cope with the pain of that.

Abruptly, she released him, and unprepared for it, he stumbled to the ground. He looked up at her as she stepped back.

Her voice was colder than he'd ever heard it.

"Get out of my sight. I don't ever want to see you again."

He looked at her, lost, trying one more time to defend himself against her accusation—but it was hopeless. He turned away, eyes closing. They were stinging—oh no. He couldn't let her see him fall apart like this. He scrambled up, keeping his face turned away from her. He needed to be alone, to pull himself together—ok, fall apart first, then pull himself together.

Feeling numb, he moved quickly away from Xena.

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As soon as he was far enough away that there was no way she'd be able to hear him, he felt his ability to speak return. He stumbled to his knees. "No," he said in a low voice, with strong feeling he almost never let into his words. "I'd never do anything that would hurt you or Gabrielle."

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A figure stood nearby in the shadows, listening, a stern expression on his face. Cupid was disgusted with his uncle's cruel games. With a compassionate glance back at Autolycus, shaking his head mournfully, he flew off to set in motion events that would right this wrong.


End file.
